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What Happened In The Barn

Leave. No. Witnesses.

By Arica WebbPublished 3 years ago 6 min read
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What Happened In The Barn
Photo by Carissa Weiser on Unsplash

The old rickety barn out on Mr. Wilson's farm.

As a child, we were always told never to venture into the old mans' barn. Many had entered but none seemed to exit, it was as if they had just vanished or fallen off the face of the earth.

The children of Enderberry had always told different tales of that old scary-looking barn but they all seemed to keep one thing consistent. Those who went in ended up dead or worse. But to keep things interesting in our sleepy little town, once you turned sixteen no matter what gender you were sent up to the barn to see if you could find any of the remains of those who never made it out. Many teens had made it out but found no evidence of gruesome murder.

That was a little disappointing for those who were so hung on the legend that had been passed around and ended up growing throughout the generations.

But you see, now it was my turn to take a trip to the murder barn.

It was my turn to finally take photographic evidence to prove once and for all it was a hoax. A fable. A bedtime story our parents told us to get us to behave when we were younger.

The entire day I was so anxious, nervous, and somewhat excited. It was a right of passage and I was going to be able to do it. My parents use to tell me about the time they went when they were sixteen and it just made me want to go even more. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. You're probably thinking why is a sixteen year-olf happy to go to a place where they could possibly get murdered or worse. Well, I'm curious by nature and probably have some sort of death wish to find out the truth. My mother thinks I'll probably be a good journalist when I get out of college.

But moving on.

When it was finally time to leave and meet up with some of the older sixteen-year-old, I practically sprinted the entire way to the edge of town where the wooden barn sat, practically begging for poor unfortunate souls to enter and be damned. I was easily greeted by the leader of the "group". It was Chaz, the only eighteen year-olf in a class full of seventeens'. His low voice almost seemed to be loud yet soft at the same time, "You know the rules Gema, give me your pack. You can't take any photos in there."

I knew he was right. I could get in trouble for trespassing if I was ever caught. Solemnly I hand over my backpack and look down at my feet. All my excitement for this excursion had faded and was replaced with fear and anxiety. But I wasn't going to let them see my fear.

Picking my head up, I don't even wait for Chaz to tell me to go, I slip underneath the barbed wires and make a run for the barn. I had read the rules a million times, "Don't get caught by the cops." "No pictures or videos." And "Don't get caught by the old man." That last one was a no-brainer. If you got caught, you weren't coming back home.

I had gotten to the barn a lot quicker than I had initially planned, but I started to slow down once I got closer to the barn when the sounds emanating from inside got clearer. It sounded like a woman was crying and groaning in pain. Inching closer and closer to the barn, I peek through one of the small holes in between the boards that made the wall.

All around, the floor was a mixture of hay and dirt. The walls were all the same in color, the dull lifeless gray that matched the outside. A different variety of farming tools and small equipment litters covered every inch of the wall leaving no empty spaces for the darkness to cling to. But what stuck out the most was the woman I had heard before; her hands were bound to one of the pillars in the barn while her feet were spread apart. I continued to watch as a man entered the bar, a machete in his hand. Dry, rusted blood covered the tip of the blade. Seeing it made me want to throw up my dinner.

Fear seemed to be the only thing driving my motor skills but I couldn't move it was like I was frozen in place. Nothing wanted to move, my eyes were fixed on the scene in front of me. It was all happening so fast.

The man looked so much younger than Mr. Wilson. Maybe this was his son or something. He sets the machete down and pulls out a much smaller knife and begins to slowly slice up the womans' toes, feet, and legs. Carving different patterns into her skin like it was a canvas and he was the painter. At this point, I could feel a coldness rush up my spine as bile traveled up my throat, and wanted to make my mouth its home for the next few seconds. Forcing it back down, I refocus my attention back on the woman and the man.

"You were the one that got away." His voice sounded sinister and the way he spoke made it seem like he was almost confident. Maybe this man was a serial killer and was continuing Mr. Wilson's work...OH GOD...I am in the presence of a serial killer...I need to leave. Why aren't my feet moving? Come on stupid feet move. "You're not going to escape this time."

The woman could only whimper and cry. Maybe it was the fear or thoughts of preservation that kept her from saying anything. I didn't blame her. I was only watching and I was terrified. "Please...Please don't kill me..."

Her speaking only seemed to anger her kidnapper. He slams the smaller knife into her thigh causing her to let out a blood-curdling scream. Tears were involuntarily rolling down my cheeks, falling onto the dry grass. "SHUT UP!"

His voice made both of us jump. I tried to turn to run but nothing seemed to want to move. It was like I had cement stuck in my shoes. Move. Please move. I don't want to see this poor woman get murdered.

Watching as his hand slowly moves over to the machete laying near her left leg, he brings it up and begins his assault. Wacking her multiple times, blood mixing in with the dirt and the hay, making nasty colors of death, painting the barn floor with his next victim. The only thing I could do was let out a scream in response. But this was a terrible mistake.

The man quickly looks up from his victim and frantically searching around till his eyes meet mine. This forces my entire body to move. I was running faster this time. Pushing myself faster and faster until I was to the barbed wire fence. I practically dove through the gap and once my body got up I didn't hesitate. I ran and ran until I reached my house.

"How did it go, sweetie?" My head snaps in the direction of my mother, I think she knew something was up, "Is everything okay? You're looking a little flushed."

Without even saying anything I run up the wooden stairs to my bedroom. I just witnessed a murder. I am a witness. Sleep that night was nonexistent. My brain was racking up different scenarios of how the man from the barn would find me and kill me.

Because I was his witness and we all know what happens to them.

They die horrible deaths.

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About the Creator

Arica Webb

I love writing, reading, and art. I have many stories to tell and I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I love writing them. Please enjoy.

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